Grasshopper
by Teo Torriate
Summary: Oneshot. Mr. Schuester disapproves of Blaine's dancing. Luckily, there's Mike Chang's Super Asian Dance Academy.


"I think you should buddy up with Mike," Mr. Schuester suggested, holding a hand to his mouth in a sly grin. "He could teach you how to dance." Blaine frowned at Mr. Schuester's words. "Like an Asian, of course." Mr. Schue amended quickly, catching his slight arbitrary remark. Blaine quirked one of his eyebrows at Mr. Schue's little add-on (Like an Asian? Really?) and glanced quickly at the Asian, panicking and staring into his hands when Mike instantly caught his gaze. Who knew Mr. Schuester didn't like his birdlike spin? The Warblers had always enjoyed it… right, the Warblers. Dalton Academy.

Blaine frowned and laced his fingers in thought. He wasn't going to lie—he was having second thoughts about McKinley already. He felt too awkward in his button shirt and sweater-vest; he rather missed the sleek and rather stiff Dalton uniform, pressed and polished (the way he liked it). The first thing that had happened to him when he pushed through the glass doors with such daring and pride was an icy soup to the face. When prompted, Blaine found out that said soup was christened a Slushee. Blaine would soon find out just how much the Slushee was the staple of jock torment at McKinley. It took three wet wipes, two tubes of Tide-to-go, and some kind of weird mango-scented mixture (Kurt assured him it was all natural and totally what the celebs used) to scrub off the dregs of blue on the argyle print. Throughout the moment, Blaine joked that at least he'd have toned arms from the entire workout.

There was subtle shift of shapes and then a broad hand clapped Blaine gently on the shoulder. "Hello? You okay, Blaine?" Mike whispered. Blaine stiffened in surprise but relaxed visibly. The others were already at their own thing, and Blaine was a bit relieved that Mike didn't create such a commotion.

"Yes, I'm good. Thank you for the concern…" Blaine trailed off when Mike's hand slid from his shoulder and grasped his hand in a soft but firm grip. Blaine couldn't help but let out a small "eep"-like gasp when Mike folded his long fingers over Blaine's in a loose waltz hold. Mike smoothly tugged on the hand and as if on cue, Blaine's body reacted, sliding up from his seat to meet the Asian eye-to-eye. Blaine noted that Mike still hadn't let go of his hand—and that was all sorts of dizzying and something akin to a whirlwind whipped up somewhere inside him.

"At least you can take cues well," Mike teased and lead Blaine towards the exit of the clubroom.

"W-wait, where are we—" Blaine balked, a brief taste of panic on his words.

"Auditorium. It's a bit too crowded in the clubroom to do some real _Asian_ dancing." Mike supplied the answer casually; his eyes alight with something Blaine had saw before. It he had remembered correctly, it was during Sectionals. Blaine's memory then provided the memory of Mike and Brittany on stage, their movements large and fearless; the way Mike gripped her too tightly and spun so crisp it gave Blaine shivers when watching him. That same powerful dancer was now leading him away like a gentle wave to a rowboat. Blaine turned to give Kurt a frantic look but his fashionable comrade was invested in an elaborate discussion with Mercedes. Blaine returned his eyes to the arm in front of him, clad in a polyester-blend viridian Adidas sports jacket, and then lower to the hand tranquilly encircling Blaine's own.

When they got to the auditorium, Mike let go of Blaine's hand and climbed on stage excitedly, Blaine slowly dropped his hand and then quickly carried it to his chest, looking at his hand with surreal scrutiny. His hand was heated; Blaine felt the clamminess and flushed, the heat siphoning from his hand to his cheeks. Had Mike noticed it?

Mike stretched loquaciously, arms lolling around and feet kicking around like a lunatic. Blaine stared, and then got up the stage cautiously. "Mike. What exactly are you, um, doing?" Blaine's voice was of a hesitant squeak. Mike Chang wasn't insane, was he? Of course not, it was preposterous. If anything, Mike Chang was probably the sanest member of New Directions.

"Stretching out the muscles and getting warmed up. Asian-style!" Mike yelled and did a high-kick in the air accompanied by a loud screech which echoed through the hollow of the auditorium and wrapped around Blaine's bones in a lingering vibrato. Blaine cringed, pulling back from the intrusion.

"Come on, you're all bunched up, that's not good at all." Mike pulled Blaine closer, and lifted both of Blaine's arms high over his head. Blaine let out an indignant squeak. His cheeks flared up, his ears felt warm. Hot. He was definitely a furnace. He scrunched his eyes shut. Too embarrassing, embarrassing.

Mike ascertained Blaine's posture and immediately apologized. "Sorry, was I bit too forward?" Mike asked and gently let down Blaine's arms, stepping away. Mike laughed quietly, and scratched the back of his neck. "Dance does that to me," Mike explained in nervous falters and frenzied hand movements, "I kind of… lose my Asian inhibitions. Sorry." Mike then stared at the wooden floor of the stage, focusing on his colorful pumas as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. A moment later, he peeked from under his lashes at Blaine and then instantaneously plummeted back to an interesting scuff on his shoe when he realized Blaine was looking.

Stifling a chuckle, Blaine smiled. He had found Mike's gesture charming. "No, (he smiled even bigger when Mike's head lifted back up—really, the Asian was just so expressive) you caught me off-guard." Blaine paced towards Mike, and did a simple stretch of touching his toes. Or tried to. Mike laughed, a sound so unlike the previous. It lacked the polite reservation and was hearty, something so opulent that when Blaine heard it, it felt like he was being spoiled.

"You can't even touch your toes? Not good, man. Here, let me—" and then suddenly strong warm hands were on his back and waist and a dull force was pressing him down and Blaine's heart rate decidedly jumped and his stomach plunged and it was all sorts of panicky-awesome… except for the part that Mike was unrelentingly pushing him down.

"Nngh, wait-wait-wait, I don't think I can…" Blaine whined, his fingers fondling nothing but the mere inches of air between his hands and his shoes. Mike pushed him stronger and leaned into it and Blaine felt Mike's chest against his back and he just suddenly slumped forward, making the briefest of contact with the tops of his loafers. "Okay-okay-okay! I got it, I got it, ouch— Mike—pleas—" and Mike was off and Blaine almost fell forward, whipping his arms around to catch balance. Luckily, a solid arm wrapped around his waist and hoisted him up with ease.

"Number one, we're going to improve your flexibility. That was pitiful! Kurt can lift his leg over his head. In two weeks of Mike Chang's Super Asian Dance Academy, you'll be able to do the same." Mike boasted, a proud thumb jutting at himself. Blaine laughed and countered back.

"Super Asian Dance Academy, you say? What will be the regiment? The foxtrot? Tango? Or is it that thing you're so adept at—the pop and lock?" Blaine really hoped it wasn't the pop and lock. He imagined himself awkwardly propelling his neck like a chicken. It was not a good sight to imagine.

Mike waved his hands about, as if signalling Blaine to be calm. "We'll discuss the lesson plan another time, young grasshopper. Right now—let me teach you how to dance like an Asian."

Blaine was then all too aware of the touch on his back, the clasp of his hand, the set of determined eyes and sliver of smile. Mike took a step to the left, smooth like a rolling river and Blaine shuffled over like a duck. Mike frowned a bit and tried to coax Blaine into a turn, in which the other boy responded in stutter-staccato steps, short and clipped and just so, so tense. It was definitely not Mike's viewpoints on dance. Blaine was so reserved, so hypersensitive to everything around him—making sure everything else was alright, everyone else was alright—he needed to let it go.

"Close your eyes," Mike ordered softly and Blaine froze. Mike was adamant that he made the right choice when he saw Blaine's expression, which seemed to say back, "Why? What's going on? Did I do something off?" Mike grinned to let Blaine know that there was nothing to worry about.

"Just… do it. It'll help. Trust me?" Mike offered, shifting his grip so that it was more tight and credulous. Blaine was hesitant but acquiesced, closing his eyes in a flutter. Darkness encompassed Blaine, making him feel like he floated out and astral-projected from his body. He felt strangely alien and yet connected by a tether to the world. Mike.

"Now play a song that you love in your head. Don't question it, do it." Mike's voice melded into the blackness, sweet and tempting. Blaine mimicked up the beat to Teenage Dream. The familiar rhythm and lyrics flowed into his mind, and the darkness cleared up to a shimmering gray. He couldn't help himself, really, when the words burning in his mind spread through his body and out of his mouth like wildfire. Mike didn't seem to mind and Blaine could feel the twitch of muscle when Mike led him into a simple waltz.

It was so much different than before, the music loosened up his stance, let the tension slip into the air, and Blaine felt like he was gliding over the floor, the formerly heavy feet of his was now spring-quick and matching up to Mike's leads. He suddenly dipped—zero gravity—and then Mike's hand securely catching him and twirling him into a spin and Blaine smiled, the music growing louder and heady and drenching all of his other senses into motion.

"Open your eyes, Blaine." Mike's voice cut through the darkness and the image of Mike reappeared, the strobe lights overhead making Blaine blink rapidly as it haloed around Mike's head. Then again, he was spiraling and stretched out and pulled back in with Mike grinning all the while, letting his hands dance on Blaine, melding the other boy in any form he so pleased.

Then Mike flung Blaine out forcefully and rolled him back in with such vigor that Blaine lost his footing and grabbed onto the front of Mike's shirt to prevent him from a nasty fall. Mike abruptly paused, his outstretched leg supporting Blaine and his arm tightly around Blaine to keep him up, Blaine staring up anxiously at him with such wide eyes—and a very unAsian thought crept into him and Mike blushed outright. Blaine, sensing something, chuckled and straightened up, slowly letting go of the Asian's shirt. "If that's the teaser, I can't wait for the next lesson," Blaine joked.

Mike laughed, the tension dissipating from his face but doubling in his chest from Blaine's tease. "Fear not, young grasshopper. I shall take you under my wing."


End file.
